Mementos
by ZaraShade
Summary: There are some things we try to hold on to, clinging so desperately our knuckles turn white at the effort. Yet, there are some things we would much rather forget. Quite random.


**This is quite random. It's set at the New Sanctuary post s4. Not much plot, more reflection. A bit of Will, a bit of Magnus getting all thoughtful. Based around the idea of Magnus's personal storage room, and all the cool stuff she'd have in there...**

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_Memento _

It wasn't so much he was bored as he was procrastinating. Paperwork always seemed like such a droll task, putting it off till the last possible moment – and sometimes even a bit beyond, to the point Magnus would have to nag – was much more appealing. Magnus didn't understand this mentality. He would have to do it anyway, so why not simply finish the task as early as possible in order to actually have free time rather than stolen moments of shirking his work? This was coming from a woman who made the term 'workaholic' seem laughable.

Today, he found himself pointedly avoiding his paperwork in the catacombs of the New Sanctuary. He was highly amused by the many similarities that one could find between the Old City Sanctuary and this new, and very impressive, underground one. Magnus had obviously been very fond of the old place, having built it up for many years herself, and was reluctant to let it go. He supposed he could understand, if something worked, why change it?

It did often puzzle him, however, how she'd had the time (and discretion to do so without any of them noticing) to move such large quantities of objects from the Old City Sanctuary to this one. Many of the books in the library had been moved before its destruction, as had art-work, and too her library of artefacts that had once cluttered the catacombs.

There was no reason, really, aside from habit that they should all continue to call Magnus's sort-of storage area the catacombs. Previously, it had been the basement area and so it had made sense. Now, everything in the building was underground and her storage chambers were on the second level of the west wing. Still, they persisted in calling them the catacombs.

There had always been a sort of unspoken rule that Magnus's storage was private, just as her bedroom was. Though located within the Sanctuary, the room was filled with mementos and artefacts from her long timeline. It was so jam-packed with history it would be enviable to a museum; just another testament to the amazing life she'd so far led.

Today, in his afternoon stroll about the premises to 'clear his head' before returning to his work, Will had found himself standing outside the door that separated him from the catacombs. He didn't know why, but he'd felt the compulsion to go inside. His hand had barely hesitated before pushing open the door. No one would think to look for him in there, he'd reasoned to himself, and drag him back to his desk. Excuse in mind, he'd entered the large room without further preamble.

Shelves and shelves of objects lined the walls; Gifts from Kings and Princes and Emperors and Sultans; keepsakes of historical events; personal souvenirs of moments in her life that he knew nothing of. It was a treasure trove of wonder, one that he couldn't help but be drawn to; it was the kind of irresistible mystery that enshrouded Magnus herself.

He wondered briefly if she'd collected many items from her one-hundred and thirteen year 'vacation'. Instinctively he looked around the room as though to locate any offending objects – as if he would somehow know the difference. He chuckled at the absurdity of his own action.

Will entered the room more fully, strolling with keen, curious eyes through the rows of eclectic tokens. He spotted the communication device that Tesla had used not all that long ago to contact them from Columbia, a remnant of World War II. He considered if Magnus ever donated any of her belongings to museums – it would have to be anonymously or under some pseudonym of course. For someone who'd been in the forefront of so much action, so many historical events, reading history books to her must be laughable. How many details were inaccurate or downright absurd? How far off the truth were they? She must just sometimes get the urge to jump up and correct people when they talked of things they knew nothing about, when she herself had lived through it.

"Is there not a rather sizable pile of paperwork amassed on your desk that you should be tending to?" he should have expected to hear the smooth British tone at some point, knowing he couldn't well get away with rifling through her personal things for this long. He didn't even ask how she'd found him so quickly, Magnus always just seemed to _know_.

"Busted?" he said, knowing there wasn't really escape.

She looked more amused than anything, he noted as she walked slowly to where he stood in front of a long antique bench; amused and perhaps somewhat wistful.

"I'm fairly certain I've expressed my desire for my personal belongings to remain so," she said, hands clasped in front of her. "I may have lived an extensive life, but my belongings are not on some museum display. They are just as private as any of yours or Kate's or Henry's."

She was right, he knew it. He'd known it when he'd entered. But there was much allure to finding out about Magnus through her belongings; the ever-present need to unravel just another bit of the enigma that was Helen Magnus. She must have sensed this, for she did not seem angry. In fact, she seemed quite understanding.

"Yeah," Will sighed, "I'm sorry, Magnus. It's just there's so much history here."

"Curiosity killed the cat, Will," she remarked, with the tiniest of smirks on her face.

"But satisfaction brought it back," he said.

"Cheeky monkey," she muttered. She took a few steps until she was standing in front of the antique bench, a dark wood of which he could not identify, and ran her fingers over its smooth surface.

"To you, its history," she said, "To me, it was my life. It _is _my life. I don't pretend to know the secret meaning of life, I only live it the best way I can, conducting my research and my work..."

"I know," Will said, "It gets intimidating sometimes though, and my curiosity takes over. You've done so much, been a part of so much."

She smiled kindly at him.

"I'm no saint, Will," she said. So many people she'd known, that she'd worked with, had put her on a pedestal. She'd been unparalleled in their eyes; it was an impossible burden to live up to. "I've made mistakes like any person, and I've done many things I'm not proud of. Many reminders of which are in this very room."

"Why would you keep reminders of your mistakes?" he said.

"Do we all not carry around mementos of both our victories and our downfalls? Whether that be in material objects, or more emotional ones?" she said. "For me, I carry many reminders. I do not wish to forget my past mistakes, that would be foolhardy and arrogant."

She paused, looking around.

"I've lived for so long I feel it prudent to ensure I do not forget," she said. "For the sake of those who suffered because of my folly as much for myself..."

"You know, there's this show about people who have issues letting go of possessions..." Will said, after a pause. "It's called 'Hoarders'..."

"Cheeky bloody monkey," she said, eyeing him with barely veiled amusement. "Now, go finish your paperwork before I decide to rethink letting it slide that you were in here."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, offering a sloppy mock salute before scampering off back to his office.

He left Magnus standing in the midst of her memories, nostalgia washing over her. She sighed.

Her eyes fell on a vase she'd been given by a companion of hers, an English Lord some many years ago. It was beautiful, with intricately detailed design. But, more so, it was beautiful in the memories that it held. She then noticed a pair of gloves, brown leather and well-worn. She'd used them in the First World War; many people on both sides had lost their lives in the war, and she had been a part of it. She'd kept the gloves as a reminder of this.

No matter how much she sometimes wanted to forget all of the dark things she had seen, the seedier nature of mankind and abnormals alike, the atrocities, she knew she could not. For, only through her experiences was she able to make fuller judgements.

There are some things we try to hold on to, clinging so desperately our knuckles turn white at the effort, despite growing more elusive as time goes by. Yet, there are some things we would much rather forget, and cannot.

Magnus keeps her room filled with good and bad memories so she can remember. Mementos of the horror's she's seen, and the wonders.


End file.
